


Haunt Me

by chupacabras



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-20
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-29 23:32:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/692792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chupacabras/pseuds/chupacabras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl knew that Rick wasn’t actually traveling around with him and Merle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Haunt Me

The mind sure is a tricky thing. At the CDC they had all seen the flickering lights— the synapses. The noise in the brain that made everybody who they were. It was there in front of them and yet as a population (or what little was left of it) they still knew so little about it. Some areas of the brain would probably remain mysteries forever at this rate. People were too bent on keeping alive— too busy to try and figure out why the meat in their heads planned to undo them. Humanity was oddly accepting of its undoing. Not about to go down without a fight, sure— but the apocalypse had changed every single person. Things that were out of the question before now existed in muscle memory. Killing. Stealing. Betrayal. What counted as a meal. What could be considered a bed. Everything blurred into one word, one need, one truth: survival.

Daryl Dixon knew deep down that his own mind had ways of keeping him on track, of keeping him alive. When he’d ended up on the riverside with an arrow seated in his flesh, Merle had come to him. The younger Dixon hadn’t questioned it, just kept the banter going. Kept bitching at his brother, who dished it right back. Merle had raised Daryl with tough love, for sure; even in hallucinations he was harsh and blunt. But he knew what to say to get Daryl moving, to coax him up the hill. 

But his brother’s words had been a poison that began to spread wildly with his failure. Merle was right: There wasn’t anybody else who would love him. Nobody else could look after him and care for him like Merle did. This group had left Merle behind, and a part of Daryl with him. Poison. As he moved his tent away from the others and spent his days at a distance, it spread through him and made him bitter. It would undo him if it festered long enough. It was going coagulate his friendships. Stop his heart from caring. It would be just a matter of time. 

Or it would have been, if Rick Grimes hadn’t decided to play the role of antidote. 

The ex-cop had done well in healing some of the emotional wounds left behind with Merle. With Shane gone Daryl had become a very important part of the group— going so far as being labeled Rick’s ‘Right Hand Man’ by the others. Sometimes the little nickname just made him feel like a replacement, but there were tiny things— glances, thankful smiles, nods— that caused his mind to change on the matter. Someone had to be at Rick’s side for him to stay level-headed. Daryl was more than prepared to take up that role.

He just couldn’t have imagined the depth in which it would go both ways. 

Food had become really scarce on the road. Merle didn’t like to stay in one place for long and it quickly wore down on them. Travel was always dangerous, it didn’t matter the time of day. Walkers were everywhere. Merle wasn’t as used to his new prosthetic as he could have been. The phantom pains would sometimes come for him while they tried resting, and his brother’s curses and muttered promises for revenge continued to ring in his ears even as they stumbled on when the sun rose. They couldn’t have stayed at the prison. In a world full of infectious plague his own flesh and blood was the greatest danger to the ones he cared about the most. In a way Daryl was leading a threat away from them, taking the burden alone. At some point in time, without his being able to pinpoint the beginning— the weight became a bit much on the synapses of his own brain. 

Maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t eaten. Maybe it was the truth that a cut on his leg was more than a little infected. Maybe it was the fever he had been running from more frantically than the geeks. Maybe it was dehydration. Maybe it was just the sickness in him— the sickness they all now carried. Daryl didn’t question it when  _he_  came, when footsteps fell in time next to his. It made him jumpy at first (understandable during these days) but soon the movements out of the corner of his vision came as a comfort. 

Daryl knew that Rick wasn’t actually traveling around with him and Merle. His brother couldn’t see him. The earth didn’t sigh under the ex-cop’s weight. Leaves kept their place when Rick rushed up next to or past him. Rick didn’t sleep. Didn’t eat. He was just there, and when Daryl thought for a moment that his hallucinations had lifted, something in his chest seemed to drop to his feet. His fears (whatever they were) had yet to be confirmed; Rick would show up a moment after, his voice steady and his words containing an apology.  _I was just looking ahead_  or  _Had to have a quick word with that brother of yours_ — even when Daryl knew damn well that wasn’t the case. 

Maybe Rick was dead. Maybe that prick Governor had taken the prison and killed them all. Daryl had left them— for the better— but they  **needed**  him. This could have been some kind of twisted punishment— to have Rick beside him but not in the flesh. A ghost fueled by all those glances and nods and promises. It was ironic, in a way, how Daryl didn’t want Merle’s company the same way he needed this strange haunting to continue. He didn’t want Merle to kick him in the ribs to wake him; he wanted Rick’s concerned hand on his shoulder and the request for forgiveness in his eyes— as if the sun rising already was personally his doing. He didn’t want to hear Merle’s stories about the time he’d spent in Woodbury; he wanted to watch Rick’s expressions change as he talked about his days on the force. He wanted the trust back. The faith. The truth. 

But he would have to settle for what he had while he had it. A ghost, Daryl decided, was better than nothing.


End file.
